Winter has come to Southern Appalachia; the forests are mostly dormant, sleeping and saving energy for springtime and the return of growth and vitality. While it may appear that everything is slowed and in decline, just below the surface, life still flourishes. This quote from the mystic Iranian Sufi poet Rumi captures the flourish: “And don't think the garden loses its ecstasy in winter. It's quiet, but the roots are down there riotous.” 

The word home evokes images that go deeper than its definition “the place where one lives.” 

Home means more than a house or domicile. It speaks of a place you live, and also a place that lives within you. It can mean where you come from, a place you aspire to go or return to, and it can mean emotional connection to a living space, or land that you are connected to emotionally.

When Drake Fowler returned to the North Carolina Arboretum after Hurricane Helene, the extent of the damage broke his heart. 

“We lost 10,000 trees over 80 acres,” he said.

However, as the initial shock of grief subsided, Fowler, the arboretum’s executive director, considered how to find opportunity amid destruction.

I think a lot about native plants. In fact, it is the subject of most everything I do, from the weekly wildflower walks I lead during the growing season, to the many classes, workshops and presentations I offer throughout the year. And I write about native plants in these columns that I produce twice a month. My focus is on plants that are native to the southern Appalachian Mountains and Western North Carolina. 

I’m a fairly serious person, usually sticking with facts, data and science. But occasionally I enjoy a good joke or a bout of silliness. Actually, anyone who has been reading these columns or has been on a walk among the wildflowers with me knows that silly puns and jokes are my bread and butter. 

As the fall winds blow the remaining leaves from deciduous trees and the plants have gone dormant for the season, the bones of the mountains and skeletal shapes of the trees come into view. Especially on snowy days, when the fallen snow lays on both forest floor and the branches of trees and shrubs, creating a stark outline of the forms of both hills and limbs. 

In autumn, large trees like maples (Acer spp.), hickories (Carya spp.) and Oaks (Quercus spp.) get all the attention for their vivid fall leaf color. And that esteem is well deserved, along with smaller trees like flowering dogwood (Benthamidia florida), blackgum (Nyssa sylvatica) and sourwood (Oxydendron arboreum), these colorful trees bring the tourists and their cameras each fall. 

In unmown yards and along roadsides across the mountains, there will sprout a delightful fall treasure that is among the last native wildflowers to bloom in the season. Ladies’ tresses orchids (Spiranthes spp.) spiral their way out of the ground to grow in full sun, even as the seasonal changes bring lower and less intense sunlight. 

I have been thinking a lot about healing lately. How it happens, how long it can take and the differences between healing emotional wounds and physical wounds, not to mention psychic and spiritual wounds. And to no one’s surprise, I’ve been thinking about plants: how they heal themselves, how they help heal the land, and how they help us in our own healing of body and spirit. 

As the one-year anniversary of Hurricane Helene’s arrival in Western North Carolina approaches, two faculty members in Western Carolina University’s College of Business served as project managers for an in-depth study of storm damage to the North Carolina Arboretum in an effort to develop a plan for its recovery.